Dissonance
by Kyoka-BOO
Summary: A crumbling Fuji has to deal with the repercussions of serious brain damage after a tragic accident while a reluctant Atobe struggles care for him. With time, Fuji must learn to cope with his new disabilities and Atobe must learn how to accept him. ToFu.
1. Prologue

Sometimes, I cannot distinguish between the past and the present

Author's Note: You're probably upset by now that I keep making new stories and never updating my old ones. I deserve a flame for that. I've been having trouble with everything.

On a more serious note, this story does, in fact cover the topic of serious brain damage. As I will say again, I am in no way, shape, or form, a doctor. If you have more knowledge of the medical field than I do, feel free to contact me and tell me what exactly I'm misinterpreting. As with most situations, I did my best to research traumatic brain injuries in-depth, but some lapses in factual information may be present.

All disclaimers apply. The characters are not my property and I, in no way, claim them as m own. A special thanks goes out to the members of Dudly-sama's forum, PoT stands for Pointless but Original Talking, as well. I originally proposed some of my concerns in this forum and everyone there was very helpful in giving advice. Thank you so much!

* * *

**Dissonance**

* * *

"We must make the best of those ills which cannot be avoided." – Alexander Hamilton

* * *

Sometimes, I cannot distinguish between the past and the present.

My thoughts falter—they falter only slightly, really, but they still do. It simply becomes too hazy.

Score a year, and I still feel the same. Not even a year of therapy was able to restore the memories, or stop the lapses in other memories. Nothing slowed it as it consumed every emotion, as my mind detected the presence of a memory, but I couldn't perceive it. Sometimes I can't even remember the therapy that tried to help me regain my old life. I can't. I want to. I can't.

"Go back," a voice calls. "Go back." It repeats. Then, I am lost in a sea of emotion, too caught up within the past to even remember everything I had tediously learned. "It's all falling apart," the voice tells me. When I try and protest, the words can't form. No matter how much I try and wrap my fingers around the words, it slips, and I forget. I hesitate, try again, and still fail.

My memories are hazy, and I try and search for something, but I can't remember anything, only pain; thick, resounding pain that makes my head ache. I can remember the screams. I can remember being so weak that I could barely raise my hand, much less sit up.

I can't do it anymore.

I can't do it.

Why me?

I want to know. Was it fate? Was it destiny? Was it that I was supposed to die, and only by some unfortunate method manage to survive? I'm sometimes told that it was predestined. I wasn't supposed to die; it wasn't my time. Then, sometimes I'm praised. I fought hard for my life, harder than most people would fight for it, and I emerged victorious. I don't think so. Sometimes, I want to think that the battle scars far outweigh the benefits of remaining alive. There wasn't anything I felt as if I had left to see.

My vision is dark. My hands tremble. My voice shakes. My emotions tremble.

Out of it all, they expect me to take a deep breath and learn. They believe I can overlook whenever I drop a plate or glass and it shatters at my feet. They want to overlook whenever my balance becomes so worn that I come crashing to the ground. The care less that I can barely express myself with my trembling voice, and no matter how hard I try and adapt, I can't. I can only live in the past.

With each shattered plate, and with each stammered word, I'm lose a small part of myself. I can't live like this anymore.

The nightmare hasn't subsided yet; it never subsides. No matter how much I plead with the gods, it will never end. It isn't fair. Why me? I can't do this anymore. I can't deal with it. Why am I alive? Why haven't I recovered? Why does it hurt so much?

I can only try.

Sometimes, though, I don't feel like trying is enough.

As everything falls into darkness, I only have a few more questions.

Atobe, will you be there?

Will you be my voice?


	2. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: **I don't know how long it'll take me to update from time to time. I'm not supposed to be writing this; I should be studying. Anyways, it's more just to work off stress and everything.

As a warning, the only thing I did was research. While I try and remain accurate in my information, it shouldn't be taken as fact. I am not a doctor and I have never studied medicine. I also am clueless about medical policy in hospitals, thus spawning a situation that's likely unrealistic. If you have any advice to give, I would love it. I will answer any questions pertaining to the subject to the best of my ability as long as one keeps in mind that I might, and probably am incorrect about various facts.

All disclaimers apply. All characters belong to Konomi Takeshi.

**Another addition. **Crassreine was able to give me a little bit of advice during this chapter about figuring out the exact situation. Thank you so much, Reine-san!

* * *

**Dissonance**

* * *

A smooth sea never made a skillful mariner. -English Proverb

* * *

Atobe Keigo was not ready for this meeting.

Tapping his foot impatiently, he looked at his watch; maybe he could cancel it. He was the company president, and this meeting wasn't of absolute importance, so nobody would complain to him if he rescheduled it or cancelled it altogether. He wasn't in the _mood_ to deal with listening to reports and boring suggestions today. He was, in fact, in the exact opposite mood. Atobe Keigo, slightly temperamental, in his late thirties, and still as egotistical as he was in middle school, didn't want to deal with people today—not after his earlier fight. Atobe was not normally a person to get into fights—but this was a special exception, and he was still fuming over it. After so many years of growing up as an only child and the most popular student in school, he wasn't accustomed to hearing anything said against him, especially not by those who were close to him.

"Atobe-sama, the meeting is in thirty minutes. Would you like me to postpone it?"

His assistant poked her head meekly through his office doorway. She had known Atobe long enough to understand his various moods, and considering the state he came into that morning, she smelled trouble and soon read his thoughts. She bowed her head shyly as Atobe paused, squinted, and then finally nodded.

"Yes, postpone it for another hour." When she shuffled hurriedly out of the room away from him, and he frowned. He'd only inherited the company a few years ago when his father fell ill and could no longer work. Lately, it had been a lot of stress, and his lover, Fuji had paid the price. Of course, Fuji was growing tired of Atobe's arrogance and the fact that Atobe was so focused on work right now. Had Atobe more sense, he would have understood it, but he was a hardheaded man. He couldn't understand why Fuji was so temperamental lately.

Pausing, he looked out the office window. Their relationship wasn't perfect, no, but it was beginning to seem as taxing as marriage. Atobe wasn't used to having something that wasn't absolutely perfect, and Fuji was consistently annoyed by this egotism. His and Fuji's views never met; Fuji wanted Atobe to relax, Atobe complained that Fuji was asking too much. Their fights were growing more and more constant; not even having tea together and trying to induce silent discussion was working. Their relationship was full of fury; one moment, there was unrestrained passion while the next was filled with conflicting anger and hatred. It didn't help that Fuji was stubborn. He was so unrelenting and distant that he wasn't sure if he could ever reach him and reason with him.

A few minutes later, after silence enveloped the room and the fury of his thoughts died down, his menial worries about their growing fights quieted. When calm, blissful thoughts replaced them Atobe sighed in relief, touching his temples. Worries were foreign to him. He spat at imperfection. Atobe was perfect, but his relationship with Fuji certainly was not, and it frustrated him beyond belief. He still tried to remember the person whom he'd originally been so attracted to—Fuji was so sexy as a young man in his late twenties, and it was far too tempting for Atobe to avoid. Promiscuous, he sought a relationship with Fuji, and it took six months before he'd managed anything—even a one-night stand. Sometimes, it was hard to remember that Fuji was still sexy, independent, and intelligent; everything that attracted Atobe was still there, but despite it, he couldn't stand Fuji's nature. It was difficult to compromise.

Now, Atobe was facing something far more lethal than any of his fights; the foreign, insinuating feeling of guilt crept across the pathetic excuse for a heart and no matter how hard he tried to push the feelings away, he couldn't forget their earlier fight that morning when he saw Fuji angry—who'd frowned at him, shook his head, and muttered, "You're despicable," before turning and walking off as if he could not remember their fight at all, posing that same, sickening smile on his face. Maybe he and Fuji would have dinner tonight. A nice dinner, and more romantic night, perhaps not driven by pure, insatiable lust that would only turn to anger and indifference come morning.

Yes, he would.

However, he was only halfway through dialing the number of the most famous French-style restaurant in Tokyo before a tone trilled. There was another call, and after frowning slightly, he pressed the button on the console and switched lines. "Yes," he said. Atobe didn't even realize his voice contained a hint of irritability.

"_Atobe-sama, the hospital wishes to speak with you. Can you?"_

Atobe gritted his teeth. Wonderful. The hospital. What would they want, now?

"Do you know what they want?"

"_No, they wouldn't disclose it to me."_

Sighing softly, rolling his eyes, Atobe nodded to himself. "Yes." They were probably asking for endorsement of sorts, hoping the corporation would help invest on research for a new medical treatment. In a way, it annoyed Atobe. He was annoyed that they were always looking for endorsement on new research.

"_Transferring call," _he heard his secretary's voice, distantly.

"Hello?" He asked, his voice still slightly irritable. There was crackling silence on the line for a moment, and then he heard a voice.

"_Is this Atobe Keigo?"_

"Yes, yes," he said, rolling his eyes further.

"_Are you still familiar with Fuji Shuusuke?_

If Atobe expected any question, it wasn't this. He paused for a moment, his mouth halfway through forming the answer 'no'. Shaking out of it, he paused for a moment, almost stupidly. "Yes. Why?" By this time, his voice had lost its characteristic irritability.

"_I see." _The voice on the other line paused. _"Atobe-san, can you come to the hospital please? There's been an accident."_

"An accident?" His voice rose slightly, anger ringing within it. This didn't happen to people that he knew. He was blessed with fortune. They made the wrong identification on a dirty commoner that only looked like Fuji, he convinced himself. "What do you mean?"

_"A train crash."_ The voice said softly over the line. _"Atobe-san, I'm afraid that after identifying him you were the only one we could contact. If you could come to the hospital and provide some phone numbers, please?"_

Atobe swallowed. "What's wrong?"

_"I'm afraid we can't discuss the nature of his injuries over the phone line. It's a hospital policy. If you wish to know the extent of the damage, please come to the hospital and discuss this with a doctor."_

"Fine." He heard the voice speak a pardon over the line, but he'd hung up even before he could hear the word 'goodbye' and walked to his closet, somewhat urgent to go to the hospital and prove the doctors that the man injured in the accident was, in fact, a commoner and not Fuji Shuusuke. After taking his coat out of the closet, he pulled it over his shoulders, pulled out his cell phone, and after dialing Fuji's number and waiting as it rung, he hurried out of his office, told his secretary to postpone his meeting until the afternoon, and was on the elevator down to the first floor. He was walking out the door by the time he received Fuji's voicemail. Frowning, he said, "Please call me back," and hung up hurriedly. His limo was there and in a few minutes he was on his way to the hospital.

_Are you still familiar with Fuji Shuusuke?_

The words echoed hauntingly through his head as he watched the buildings streak by from the tinted windows of his limo. Even though Atobe already convinced himself Fuji was fine, part of him was nervous and uptight, especially when he finally pulled into the parking lot of the hospital and stared at the large building. He hated the hospital. It was such a dirty, common place. Part of him didn't even know why he ended up coming here. After all, Atobe Keigo was too good to be seen here. He knew he was a world apart from the people there, especially when he walked inside and saw the nurses gape and goggle at him. He basked in the glow until he finally asked a nurse whom he could speak to, and he was sent halfway across the building to the neurology ward. Fingering the pink visitor tag that was attached to the front of his coat, he found the neurology department and frowned. He found a nurse sitting at the desk. "I'm looking for Fuji Shuusuke." His voice spared nothing polite. The nurse frowned at him for a moment and then nodded.

"Atobe-san?

He nodded.

"I spoke to you on the phone." She slid a form and a pen towards him. Atobe squinted at the miniscule print. He made out various articles, indicating various choices, disclaimers, sections about life support, physical therapy, allergies… the list went on. The woman handed him a blank sheet of notebook paper as well.

"This," she indicated the form, "Is a list of previous medical history, any preexisting conditions, and risks. If you can please fill this out, the doctors can begin extensive treatment. She then indicated the notebook paper. "Please write any phone numbers of known extended family, alternate phone numbers of direct family, and other important phone numbers here." Atobe frowned and began writing each tiny detail that he could remember.

"I'm afraid that in the case that his parents cannot be reached, I need a decision on the course of his treatment. This is an emergency situation and stabilizing his condition is vital."

"Wait," Atobe burst out impatiently. "How do I even know that this is Fuji?" His patience was too thin today to be dealing with incompetent hospital staff. She sighed and brought out a thick, yellow envelope with Fuji's name written across the top. Papercliped to the front was Fuji's and identification card, splattered with dried, flaking blood. He could barely make out Fuji's face through the thin sheet of red. The expression on his face fell, and Atobe dropped the pen. He read the name across the top of the envelope again. His heart raced. This wasn't Fuji. This couldn't be Fuji. When he finally looked at the blood-splattered identification card again, something within Atobe broke. He didn't know what to do. He gripped for the pen and bit his knuckle. This couldn't be happening.

"Atobe-san…" The nurse said softly, looking at his unresponsive gaze. Another voice called his name across the word.

A doctor wearing a white coat and carrying a clipboard reached for the envelope and forms sitting on the desk and took the pen from Atobe's still hands. "Please follow me, Atobe-san." The shock wore off enough that Atobe was able to follow him back through a glass set of doors into a single, empty exam room. The doctor, unlike the nurse, looked steely, upset as if Atobe was going to face an oncoming storm.

"What happened?" he asked, his voice uncharacteristically flat.

"A train accident, Atobe-san. On the other side of the city, a train lost control and derailed. Six people were killed. Others were injured. Your friend was thrown into the wall upon impact." Atobe paused, and opened his mouth suddenly.

"Doctor…"

"What do you understand about head trauma, Atobe-san?"

"Does he have a concussion? Broken bones?"

The doctor shook his head gravely. "Atobe-san, it's a wonder he didn't damage his spine at the velocity he hit that wall. I speculate that he hit it headfirst. His skull is fractured in two places."

Atobe was completely silent. "And?" He finally said.

"I'm not sure of the extent of the damage, but I believe that surgery is necessary to relieve intracranial pressure. Fuji-san's brain is most likely bleeding and without surgical intervention, it's likely that he will die."

Atobe paused.

"How?"

"When Fuji-san's skull fractured, I believe that one of his arteries might have been severed. If this is true, Fuji will need surgery within the next few hours. There's only so much pressure that the skull can withstand; there isn't enough room for that much blood, and if left untreated for much longer, Fuji will be at risk for further damage. The excess blood will need to be drained."

"How long will this take? How long will he be in the hospital?" The man finally shook his head. Atobe's chest hurt. His head hurt. Everything hurt. Atobe, for once, ached with worry because in spite of his anger at Fuji, deep within the whirl of self-absorbed egotism, he was able to muster some affection for him.

"We cannot make an estimate. Depending on the damage, he can be in the hospital from anything from a week, to a year." Atobe opened and closed his mouth several times before he finally figured out what to say.

"What do you mean?" His voice was tense. "A year?"

"Atobe-san, the brain governs every single bodily function. It controls the flow of blood, the regulation of the organs, the control of emotions, behavior, action, and intelligence. Fuji-san may not be able to walk at first. He may lose his sight. He may recover perfectly and have no lasting complications. Anything can happen."

Still full of doubt, Atobe nearly smiled. "But he will be fine, right? I can see him now. He'll have the surgery and we can leave in a few hours."

"Atobe-san, I'm not sure if you understand the severity of the situation."

"Severity?"

"Your friend is comatose, Atobe-san, with life-threatening injuries to his brain. He may be injured elsewhere. In the emergency room, the doctors confirmed several broken bones. There's still the possibility that he may be suffering from massive internal bleeding and organ damage. It's likely that he will need further treatment after our initial assessment of his condition."

"Then why is he here, damn it! Why isn't he in the emergency room?"

Obviously, the doctor had dealt with angrier patients in the past. He was oblivious to Atobe's scalding words. "We are better equipped to handle his case at the moment, Atobe-san. He needs a CT scan and an EEG to assess his condition and direct further treatment. The doctors in the emergency ward believed he needed more adequate assessment on the trauma to his brain."

"What do you want me for, then?" He couldn't understand why they would want him around only to tell him the news. He itched to get out of this hospital.

"We need you to help decide the course of treatment. In the case of brain death, will Fuji-san be kept on life support? Will you agree to his surgery?"

Atobe held his chin high. "Whatever you need to do." The doctor nodded and wrote more on his clipboard.

Atobe paused, and for one of the first times in his life, he felt scared. Atobe never felt true, blinding fear. After swallowing several times, he managed to speak. "Will he live?"

The doctor looked at his clipboard and wrote something. He said what Atobe feared most next. "I will not lie to you. His prognosis is not positive. At most, there is a ten percent chance that he will survive."

* * *

**Random notes…. (But important, so read them!)**

EEG (electroencephalogram) is a test used to measure brain activity on a millisecond by millisecond basis. This can be used to determine to what extent the brain is damaged and can be used to determine if a patient who is in a coma is brain dead.

CT scans can be used, in this specific case, to determine if there is bleeding in the brain and to determine if damage has occurred.


	3. Chapter 2

I will admit right now; this isn't as proofread as much as it should be.

Feel free to point out any mistakes or, if you see fit, flame. Chances are, I won't give it much regard anyways. My life is built of stress right now and writing is a rare occurrence now.

All disclaimers apply. I DO NOT OWN ANY CHARACTERS. They are all property of Konomi Takeshi.

Yes. You may gawk at me, but this was just a way of coping with stress. I needed to write, at least somewhat, and I mind as well turn out a finished project so I can move on with the chapters if I can.

Reviews are loved. They are loved very much.

* * *

**Dissonance**

It had been hours since Atobe received the phone call; it was eleven and a half hours, to be exact.

Atobe swallowed a bit of cold hamburger and grimaced

Atobe swallowed a bit of cold hamburger and grimaced. Normally, he would not engage in the eating habits so characteristic of the lower class. Atobe's tongue protested to the food soaked in its own grease, and he recoiled at the sugary taste of the soda in the paper cup on the table next to him. There were French fries next to him on the table, but they were cold, soggy, and were not suited enough for Atobe's refined palette.

He didn't know why he was doing this. He was eating food that he'd ignored for hours in a foreign, dark waiting room past ten o' clock at night. His eyes burned with fatigue. His stomach protested at the poor excuse for dinner, but all of this was in order to avoid the real problem. Atobe had never been this sort of person before, but now his own worries annoyed him so much that he needed something as a distraction. Going home didn't feel _right. _He tried for an hour; only to grimace at the feeling of knowing Fuji was imprisoned in the hospital. He, on the way back to the hospital had astounded his driver by asking for take out, and then in turn ignoring it for hours until the pangs of hunger in his stomach needed to be satisfied, even if it was from cold food that Atobe would normally turn his nose up at.

A quiet settled over the neurology ward a while ago and the majority of people waiting in the waiting room regarded the time and went home; however the nurses, considering his status, allowed him to remain in the waiting room while Fuji underwent surgery. Intracranial pressure, they called it. It had taken long enough for the doctor to make a decision, too. To Atobe, it took too long for the doctor to decide that Fuji would need emergency surgery to save his life and prevent any further damage from taking place. They tried to convince Atobe that Fuji may not improve--they tried to convince him that it was possible that Fuji would never come out of his coma. In a way, it was a sad attempt to force the man to face reality. They weren't miracle workers, after all. However, Atobe thought they were.

Atobe thought they were idiots, honestly. He would make sure they fixed Fuji by any means necessary. That was there job. They were supposed to help Fuji, and if his lover came out of this ordeal with any scars, Atobe would blame the medical staff. His reputation alone was enough to put the hospital out of business if he was dissatisfied with the way they treated Fuji's condition. He would, too.

The teriyaki burger didn't taste very sweet to him at all. He grimaced slightly. There was too much sauce on it. Eventually, he abandoned it for the cold, soggy fries. Atobe wasn't ardent about potatoes, especially when they were cold and soggy, but they alleviated his hunger, nonetheless. Bitterly, he nipped his finger and glanced at the clock on the wall.

"Atobe-san?"

A nurse appeared in the waiting room, and he stood. She looked around for a moment and said softly when he approached her, "Fuji-san's surgery just ended a while ago. He's still being watched to ensure there aren't any problems… You may visit him in a while if you wish."

He nodded vaguely. She, like many of the nurses, was shy around him; while the doctors were rather indifferent to Atobe's status, the majority of the nursing staff wasn't. News of his presence spread through the hospital and reached the ears of members of his old fan club. While some whom he'd known in junior high would pass by the ward on occasion, looking at him quietly while keeping their cups of instant coffee close to them, the others who interacted with him were, like many other women, too preoccupied to note anything other than his attractive features. He was beginning to get annoyed.

As the nurse turned to walk away, though, something within Atobe snapped. "What's going to happen?" He asked snidely, his voice angry, pompous, yet concerned for Fuji. She turned her head down for a moment as if in respect, but then she fiddled with her clipboard and did not meet Atobe's eyes. "I want to know." He demanded.

"He's still comatose," she said softly.

Atobe felt the urge to shake her by the shoulders, but his thin patience held and he was able to control himself. "When will he come out of it?" He hissed. She looked slightly peeved at his childish attitude, but partially intimidated by it as well. Keeping her distance, she continued to fiddle with her clipboard. "Are you going to answer me?"

"I—" She began meekly, but was immediately cut off.

"Will he be all right?" Atobe's voice was slightly louder this time.

"Atobe-san, I am not a miracle worker. Fuji-san will recover if fate permits it. Sometimes, though, it's better to die than to have a such a painful scar that you regret being alive!" She snapped before tucking her clipboard under her arm and hurrying away before Atobe had time to react. By the time she was gone, Atobe's angered scream echoed throughout the word and faded away before he froze, then clenched his fists. He'd never felt this powerless before. He hated it. And that woman… how dare she decide that Fuji would be better off dead! She was stupid indeed!

Angrily, he tossed the take out food that was sitting on the nearby table into the garbage can, forgetting that the painful hunger of not eating anything except the horrendous teriyaki burger and the cold French fries all day.

Atobe's rage was still brewing beneath the surface. This was the thing he hated the most; Atobe loathed not having any control whatsoever. He was a man of power, not a man of helplessness. He had control of everything and anything around with him and he was gifted with the virtue of good fortune for his entire life. However, this wasn't good fortune, and Atobe only had so much patience for anything unlucky. It seemed like hours before a doctor finally strode out from another room, called his name, and beckoned him to follow.

Atobe hated the scent of hospitals, really. The smell of iodine and disinfectant that always hung in the air was enough to burn his delicate nose and the smell only got worse as he ventured farther back past the waiting room. They passed rooms that were sparse save for a few patients and nurses. They even passed a room labeled 'recovery' which Atobe was sure meant from surgery—however, the only place they stopped was a tiny observation room. It was cramped, not really meant for long-term use. On the other side was a glass wall and a hallway. Atobe glanced at the name written on the paper card under the room number again. It was Fuji's.

There were a few minutes in which he didn't even look at Fuji. He couldn't stand to even look at a face that was damaged. Instead, he diverted himself to the heart rate monitor—other machines that Atobe didn't know the name of, the IV bag fixed above his bed with what looked to be a blood transfusion and fluids. Finally, he took another deep breath and looked at the bed.

Maybe, he thought to try and placate his frantic mind, he could tell the doctor that this wasn't Fuji. Then, he finally looked up and down. This certainly didn't _look_ like Fuji. Clad in a plain hospital outfit, the person in the bed looked to be a pale, sickly creature, with a green towel wrapped around his head, a long line of dark stitches running over his brow and down past his ear. The ugly yellow splash of iodine lingered on his cheek and around the stitches. The pale, lax face was dotted with ugly bruises that were swollen and dark. However, under the marred exterior, Atobe saw something that he didn't want to admit—even beaten, battered, and unconscious, he was almost positive that the pathetic being on the bed was Fuji.

His left wrist had a number of IV cables taped to it, surrounded by a small amount of dry blood. On the other arm, there was a hospital bracelet and another, slightly bloody bracelet that nobody had taken off upon Fuji's admission to the hospital. There was a mask over Fuji's nose and mouth and he lay perfectly still, unaffected by Atobe's presence.

Atobe's heart thudded to the floor when he approached the bed. The bracelet on Fuji's wrist was… indeed… He paused for a moment, looked behind him, and then lifted Fuji's unresponsive wrist and looked at the bracelet. It was a gift that Atobe had given him a year ago—the silver was dented and through the blood and the exquisite carvings was incomprehensible. Hesitantly he removed the bracelet. His heart stopped. There was writing on the inside, covered in blood. His curiosity overpowering him, he scratched away a small layer of blood until he was able to read.

'_For Fuji Shuusuke, from the noble Atobe Keigo.'_

Atobe could barely read it through the remaining sheet of blood, but as the effect of the words sunk in, Atobe's hand shook and then he dropped the bracelet on the floor.

"Fu—" Atobe's heart shuddered with a foreign feeling. He shook his head. This couldn't be true—it was all a nightmare. Chances were, he was at work, fell asleep on his desk, and was dreaming of all this. Yet, here it was in front of him, and he couldn't wake up. Atobe pinched his arm. This was all a nightmare. The strength that was so characteristic of his eyes faltered for only a moment as he walked closer to the hospital bed and took Fuji's limp, unresponsive hand in his own, lifted it, and rested his lips lightly against the cool skin.

There was nothing he could do.

Atobe persisted to hope—hope that as always, he was graced with the blessings of the gods and that his touch would be magical. He wanted Fuji to stir under his touch like sleeping beauty, open his beautiful blue eyes and pretend that nothing happened. He longed for it so deeply that he forgot everything else. Yet, nothing happened. Had he not his egotistic pride, he would have let tears escape and whispered the silent plea that echoed through his heart. Atobe held his chin high in pride, but his eyes lingered at poor, battered Fuji who lay lifeless below.

There was nothing he could do.


	4. Chapter 3

**Author's Notes: **Ugh. It took so long. I had a chapter done, but it died. So I had to rewrite it. I hope you enjoy.

As always, please direct any questions to me in a PM or in a review if you find this chapter vague. I will do my best to answer questions even though I am not a medical doctor. (I've done my research, though.)

**Disclaimers:** Most of the characters are not my property. While I do my best to keep the information in this story truthful and realistic as well, I am not accurate in my information. I am not a doctor and have not studied medicine. I've researched, but it means nothing. Anything I write pertaining to the subject is possibly wrong and regarded as fictional in any situation.

As such, I'm willing to take any corrections you may have if I am misinterpreting any medical information.

* * *

**Dissonance**

"_Fuji-san is showing no signs of neurological improvement."_ Slowly, Atobe was growing sadly accustomed to hearing it. He was used to hearing it. He knew every detail; Fuji did not respond to pain, would not open his eyes, and at the best times, he only murmured softly, incomprehensibly. At first, he thought that it was something important—as if it was a sign that Fuji was recovering from the coma, but he learned soon that it was still severe. Even with Fuji murmuring—even if he could open his eyes, his coma was still severe. In a way, Atobe couldn't stand it.

For two weeks, he stopped his calls and visits to the hospital. He ignored any call from the hospital as well; Atobe withdrew. He took a short week-and-a-half vacation on his family's private island but returned a week later to focus on work. Anything that distracted him from Fuji was fine, it seemed.

Atobe only convinced himself that he didn't care anymore.

Instead, he occupied himself in Fuji's room tonight loosing his mind easily to his memories of when they were younger. Fuji glowed with youth in his early twenties—he smiled brightly and was undeniably sexy. That was what Atobe had been so attracted to when he met young Fuji, fresh from college and working as a photographer for a wildlife magazine. His confidence was confirmed. He managed to sway Fuji in a few months. Their casual meetings and dates together transformed into a relationship; Atobe couldn't believe his luck.

Naturally, he invited Fuji to live with him years later.

He remembered nights here in which Fuji sat on the bed eagerly, his face glowing with beauty and his skin warm when Atobe kissed his forehead. He remembered their squabbles and their games—he remembered laughing beside Fuji, who always had an excellent, though sometimes cruel, sense of humor. He remembered their heated moments, their tender relationship—everything.

And it had fallen apart.

One of Atobe's greatest fears was aging. Atobe hated ugliness, and with age, the trait became more and more threatening. There were times that he liked to think that he and Fuji would always remain youthful. There would never be wrinkles on their face—they would never be so horrendously plain. They would live in their youth together forever.

Of course, the accident had shattered that idea. Now, Fuji was fragile and broken, in a coma on a hospital bed and quite ugly. His face was still and unsmiling. His lovely blue eyes were closed. His face was bruised and his arms were pale. His hair was still growing back after brain surgery—short and like fuzz on the top of his head. Bandages dotted Fuji's arm; his face was uncharacteristically sunken and lax. Atobe hated it. He wanted it all to change, but alas, the nightmare continued.

"_He has, at best, a ten percent chance of living."_

Maybe the doctors were persistent. Maybe he was lucky. Maybe Fuji wasn't meant to die; he still lived on, but Atobe wondered for how long. He thought that on the first night he saw Fuji, he was sure that he could see the life slipping away from him. What if Fuji died? What would happen? His worst nightmares reverted, regrettably, back to the hospital. A dying, bloodstained Fuji was wheeled to ICU, surrounded by a crowd of doctors and nurses, and then, he faded away…

It was times like these that he was severely disturbed by his own mind, no, his nightmares.

"Atobe-sama?"

The soft voice pulled him from his reverie of the past. She carried a tray into the room and set it next to him on the bed. On it was coffee and what was normally his favorite meal—roast beef. Atobe's appetite didn't tempt him. "I thought I asked for wine," Atobe said sternly, his voice uncharacteristically hoarse. She looked slightly frightened as if she expected that he might lash out at her, but he seemed too distracted for that.

"I can bring you wine in a minute, Atobe-sama," she said hesitantly. "However, the chef cooked this especially for you. He insisted that I bring it up to you. He believes that your eating habits as of late are worrisome." Atobe gave her a slight glare out of the corner of his eye, and she added, "We are only worried for your welfare, Atobe-sama," quickly afterwards to try and appease the man.

"Fine. Bring me wine."

She bowed. "Try and eat, Atobe-sama. I will be back with some wine in a minute."

He paused for a moment and slowly took a bite of roast beef. The green vegetables at the side and the coffee remained untouched. Until now, Atobe had not realized how little interest he had in food. It was waning still, but he swallowed the piece of food and managed to clear half the plate without trouble. He faltered as he continued, though.

Fuji… He was in the hospital.

Atobe had been told many times that Fuji's coma could possibly be permanent; he may never awake.

"Hey, Atobe-sama…" The voice called distantly from he hallway and Atobe pushed the tray away from him, looking out at the window. It was raining. It was so ugly outside. Well, he thought, his thoughts becoming silent, at least he would have some wine in a minute to calm his nerves. Atobe always appreciated that.

"Atobe-sama." The maid had a phone pressed against her chest. "The hospital is on the phone."

"Tell them I'm busy!" Atobe retorted through clenched teeth.

She frowned slightly. "I did, but they insist it is highly important." She probably told them a few times that he was unavailable. They tried to call once or twice a week to give medical stats, and Atobe let all his staff know that whenever the hospital called, he did not want to talk; he wanted them to tell the hospital that he was unavailable.

"Oh, fine."

She handed him the phone "Hello?" his voice held an air of annoyance. The woman on the other line ignored it.

"Atobe-san," he heard the voice on the other line speak. "We have been trying to contact you for two weeks. We wanted to notify you that beginning last week, Fuji began to slowly recover; he's in post-traumatic amnesia now, and he's quite frightened. You are his friend, right? Maybe you can console him."

"What?"

"Early last week, he began displaying signs of improvement. Fuji-san is steadily better, but currently he's suffering from a state of amnesia. He's frightened, and we believe that he may be consoled by your presence."

"Why amnesia?" he asked.

"Post-traumatic amnesia is highly common in brain-injury patients. In his current state, he can neither form new memories nor can he remember others. The condition is temporary, yes, but it may last for a day or more."

"I see."

"He needs somebody familiar, Atobe-san," she insisted.

"Fine. I'll be there." In a way, it was because he wanted to see Fuji in a more beautiful state. He could see Fuji's lovely eyes again. Soon enough, his hair would grow back, his bruises would fade, and they could forget about the entire ordeal. That in itself was enough to make Atobe abandon his meal and the idea of wine. Donning his favorite shirt and throwing an elegant coat over his shoulders, he called to his maids that he wished to go to the hospital and to notify his driver. By the time he was out the door, a servant holding an umbrella over his head, his driver was waiting by the door of his limousine to let him in.

* * *

The ride to the hospital was deafeningly quiet.

Here he was, riding to the hospital. He'd ignored the calls they gave him for two weeks, in the chance that the doctor might call with the worst news—that Fuji was dead. As he slowly convinced himself over the next few weeks that Fuji's death was impending, his attitude slowly transformed. Now, even as he drove towards the hospital, he was inexplicably nervous and filled with disbelief. He quelled it with a glass of wine; it soothed his nerves and filled his body with a warm, sluggish feeling. His eyes drooped low for a moment before he realized that the car had stopped.

"Atobe-sama, we are here." His driver called from the front. It was a few minutes before he opened the door and handed Atobe an umbrella. Tonight, it was pouring. He nodded to his driver and traveled up the rain-slicked steps to the door and went inside. The interior was well lit, but gloomy. The darkness outside invaded the space through the clear glass doors and the windows. Inside a nearby solarium, a few terminally ill patients sat by the glass watching the rain drum against it while the phosphorescent light of the television set in the room glared in the background.

There were few nurses at the first desk, but he needed no directions; Atobe had already memorized the route to the neurology ward. Here, it was even more desolate, save for a few in the waiting room. Aside from one nurse working at a computer at the desk, there were no other nurses. She nodded to him as he entered.

"I'm here to see Fuji Shuusuke."

"Yes, I was told that you'd be here," she muttered, softly. "You are Atobe Keigo-san, correct?" she asked, scribbling something on a clipboard next to her.

"Yes, I am."

"Very well." She peeled the backing off a pink visitor's badge and handed it to him. His name was already written on it, and under it was a nurse's signature. "Do you need any directions?" she asked as Atobe stuck the badge on the front of his coat.

"No. I know where to go."

He slowly made his way past the desk into the hallway dotted with various rooms. He heard the nurse call, "Have a nice evening, sir," after him, but he could barely hear it. On this floor, the drum of the rain outside was audible; it sounded like such a deadly sound. Fuji's room was near the end of the hallway; Atobe paid for a single occupation room so that Fuji could be alone, and it was in one of the quietest places in the neurology ward. Tonight, it was eerie; it was very silent, almost deathly silent.

He paused for a minute when he reached the door.

Fuji's name was scribbled haphazardly on the name card, and it was completely quiet. Atobe hated this silence, and he tried to break it by taking a deep breath and stepping inside the room quickly. Truly, he wasn't prepared for the sight before him.

Even conscious, Fuji was as vulnerable as ever. The silence was a roar in his ears. Atobe tried to compose himself. All the comfort and warmth from the wine he drank earlier vanished within a second. It wouldn't have been a surprise if Atobe gasped had he not had so much self-consciousness and pride. The room was as it was usually. A nurse had drawn up a chair to sit beside Fuji's bed out of concern. The walls were unembellished, though get-well cards and flowers lined the table and the wall, all from Fuji's friends and family. Like the solarium, the lights were turned off and the darkness from outside invaded. What was once a scenic view was ugly—obscured by the endless downpour of rain.

"Oh, Atobe-san!" The nurse explained when she noticed him standing at the door.

Atobe was absolutely quiet. However, he did notice that as the nurse spoke his name, Fuji's gaze that was previously fixated on the wall snapped belatedly over to him. The reaction was slow and sluggish, as if the entire process was delayed.

The nurse stood walked over to him. "Fuji-san seemed to want you here. I'm glad that you came." Atobe glanced over to Fuji.

"What's wrong with him?"

"Uetaki-sensei wished to discus it with you, so he will be here in a few minutes."

"I want to know!" Atobe protested impatiently.

"He will be here in a few minutes. Fuji-san, I will be back later to check on you. Atobe-san, have a nice evening!" She was out the door before Atobe could protest further. He turned to Fuji, who was staring at him in silence, his eyes blank and glossy. He wasn't sitting up, but the nurse had piled pillows behind his back so that his gaze was free to shift. Atobe made his way over to where Fuji was.

"Are you going to answer me?" There was a moment of silence, and then he responded angrily, "Fuji, you aren't mad about our fight that day, are you?" Fuji didn't look like he understood; had Fuji forgotten their fight on the day of his accident. Loosing his patience, Atobe asked, "Why aren't you saying anything?"

Fuji's lips moved, but no words came out. His eyes were glossy; they were expressionless. Slowly, he spoke; his words were slurred and stuttered. Atobe could barely understand it.

"Ca-can't pro-n-nounce," his sentences were simple as if he couldn't say anything else. His next sentence sounded like a bare murmur, but he managed to catch one word out of the sentence, trailing through his mind silently. "Happy…"

Atobe sat down in the chair at Fuji's bedside.

He wanted, in a way, to find a way to fix this. Fuji's gaze was largely unresponsive, even when he stretched his hand out above his face. The dull, clouded blue eyes didn't follow the movement of his fingers even when he lowered his hand right in front of his eyes. Was Fuji blind? No… No… it couldn't be.

"We'll go home soon, Fuji. I promise," he said confidently, as if he could be Fuji's savior. However, his self-confident voice masked the growing resentment towards Fuji's condition. Fuji, in his state of numbness, couldn't even notice. He instead closed his eyes and smiled crookedly, his fingers moving slightly on the sheets. It seemed like Fuji had difficulty lifting his hand, so Atobe lowered his to grasp Fuji's cool, pale hand for only a moment.

He wasn't sure what Fuji uttered next, but he had no time to pay attention to the fact; a minute later, the doctor entered the room, his clipboard in hand.

"Atobe-san, it is very nice to meet you," Fuji tilted his head over in the doctor's direction, his inhuman-looking eyes glistening oddly. "Ah, and it's Fuji-kun. How are you, today?" It was odd; the doctor was probably very familiar with Fuji, perhaps. Fuji was a full-time patient here, after all." Fuji smiled over in his direction and smiled.

"A-a," he replied. Fuji seemed to still have trouble with his words, but he did not have as much difficulty with single syllables. His voice seemed far more audible before. Quickly, the doctor took Fuji's hand, as if in a handshake. Fuji squeezed back. Atobe felt a wave of anger at the man course through him, but it died when the doctor wrote something on the clipboard.

"Your responses are becoming stronger. Just remember to keep working on moving your hands, all right, Fuji-kun?" While Atobe sat off to the side, unaccustomed to being ignored, the doctor took out a small flashlight and shined it in each of Fuji's eyes. "Your signs are encouraging. We have some pupil dilation in your right eye, so perhaps we'll be lucky and see some improvement there. Can you see anything, Fuji-kun?" Fuji shook his head weakly in response. The doctor now turned to Atobe.

"Very well. Atobe-san, why don't we take this conversation elsewhere; I'm sorry for having to borrow your guest, Fuji-kun." Fuji didn't seem to mind, but he also didn't respond. They stepped outside the door.

Here, the doctor had a more professional aura. He frowned and looked Atobe in the eye.

"Currently, Fuji-kun is suffering from post-traumatic amnesia. He is suffering from retrograde and anterograde amnesia. His retrograde amnesia is typical; he doesn't quite understand his current settings, such as the year and he may have memory loss stemming back about three or four months. His anterograde amnesia is also typical. His memories are not encoded properly, so his short-term memories are not being converted into long-term memories."

"Will he be fine?"

"Yes. We assume that the post-traumatic amnesia will last a week at most."

Atobe paused. "How… how is he?"

"I will not lie; Fuji-kun's condition is serious. He was blind when he first came out of his coma, and though he seems to be improving, we believe that there is little that can be done for his sight. Fuji's slowly regaining his motor skills, but as you can see, he has problems moving, still."

"What about his speech?"

"Fuji-kun's speech may be affected for the rest of his life, Atobe-san. With speech therapy, he can improve, but we believe that the damage he has is permanent. Atobe-san, it is amazing how the brain can function under such damage, but the brain can never heal from such damage. His speech is likely damaged; it may be that way for the rest of his life. Mind you, he seems to have no trouble understanding others. The areas of the brain for those functions are separate, so he can still understand. He just does not have the ability to formulate articulate speech."

Atobe closed his eyes.

"Atobe-san, through physical therapy and rehabilitation, he will likely gain many of his abilities back. He will probably always have lasting disabilities, though. It's possible he may make an amazing recovery. Perhaps there will be a miracle."

Atobe gritted his teeth. There had better be a miracle.

"What about his sight?"

The doctor frowned sadly. "He may be blind for the rest of his life…"


	5. Chapter 4

**Author's Note: **Hello everyone! I would like to make a few applicable, relevant notes to the story.

1 ) The hiragana chart I am referencing is simply a chart listing Japanese syllables. That's the part of Fuji's speech therapy is to begin simply repeating syllables, as those are the components of Japanese words.

2 ) Random fact from the back of my insane mind: People with sight in only one eye cannot drive because people who can only see in one eye have no depth perception. (This has absolutely _no_ relevance to the story whatsoever.)

3 ) Fuji's sister has been to visit him. I just didn't include it because it wasn't really relevant to the plot.

4 ) I, in no way, shape or form, own Prince of Tennis. I therefore disclaim any right to them. This is only the result of a poor outlet of creativity. I am making no profit from this. (Aside from your lovely reviews, which I appreciate greatly, along with personal satisfaction.)

* * *

**Dissonance**

* * *

Success is the sum of small efforts, repeated day in and day out—Robert Collier

* * *

"Please repeat that,"

Atobe didn't like watching speech therapy. The only reason he was here is because he misjudged the time during his visit to Fuji; usually, he made it a point to leave before Fuji's scheduled session with the hospital speech therapist. However, guilt compelled him to stay; as soon as he was about to excuse himself when the session began, Fuji looked distraught. Maybe it was because Fuji looked like he was about to cry. The man had not seemed to have very acute control over his emotions after coming out of his recent coma.

"A, ka, s-sa" Fuji stuttered over the third syllable, and the therapists finger faltered over the hiragana chart pinned to her clipboard. Fuji paused for a minute, took a deep breath, and continued. "Ta, n-na…" he trailed off again, and the next syllable was barely a stutter, as was the one after that. Fuji, looking distraught, tried the following. "H-ha… m-m…" Fuji's cloudy blue eyes closed in frustration, and he folded his hands over his lap.

"Fuji-san, you're doing a lot better," the woman said encouragingly. "Do you want to try the next line?" Fuji paused for a moment, as if it was difficult for him to remember which line she was talking about; naturally, his sight still was not well enough to look at an actual hiragana chart, but that was besides the point; Fuji should have remembered the chart without having to look at it. "Fuji-san?" the therapist asked.

"N-n-o…" Each syllable, even though there were only two, seemed difficult for him to pronounce. His voice was weaker at the end.

She sighed. "Fine, then. Let's try repeating the first line, all right, Fuji-san?" Fuji took a deep breath, and it was a minute before he was able to repeat anything.

"A, k-ka…" He stopped and shut his mouth. Fuji wasn't used to frustration and difficulty; before the accident, he was gifted and talented in many ways; there weren't many things that he found overly difficult. Now that he could barely even speak, Fuji was beginning to wear out.

She wrote down a few comments on her clipboard. "Very well, Fuji-san. Relax. Our next session will be tomorrow afternoon. Please try and practice." She sounded upset as she walked out, which confused Atobe, as he was sure that she was used to handling more difficult cases. Fuji still looked upset. He had not responded, even after she left. Atobe stared at him questioningly. He, only for a minute, forgot that Fuji was still blind.

"Do you dislike this, Fuji? Do you want to go home?"

Even though they were cloudy and virtually depthless, he saw some glitter of expression in Fuji's eyes. He saw their innermost sadness—Fuji just wanted everything to be over because it was too difficult to bear. He was falling apart inside. Selfishly, Atobe wanted Fuji for himself. He didn't want to see Fuji in this hospital anymore. He knew, truthfully, that it was the best place for Fuji to be. He knew that Fuji wouldn't recover lying in bed at home. Here, he saw various therapists each day in order to help him regain his former abilities. Without them, Fuji would rot.

He still wanted Fuji home with him.

"I promise you'll come home soon with me. I'll take care of you." He pronounced proudly. "Life will be better with me." Fuji, still managing to retain a scrap of his former humor, gave a dry, muffled chuckle at Atobe's flimsy, but still egocentric self-confidence. He managed to hum to himself lightly in response to Fuji's statement, but couldn't will the tears away from his eyes.

"A-to," he couldn't finish the name. He stammered for a moment and felt his muscles grow weak.

He couldn't do this anymore.

Atobe could only watch when a single tear washed over his sunken, bruised cheek. It looked so ugly there. He was still not accustomed to such ugliness. Without any response from Atobe, Fuji squeezed his eyes shut, a ragged sob tearing from his lips.

"Fuji, we'll go home soon. I promise. I promise." Atobe didn't reach out to touch him, though. Fuji's sobs did not quell, and he was ashamed. He curled weakly away from Atobe's general directions, his shoulders shaking uncontrollably. Obviously, he wasn't comforted by Atobe's words.

"Don't cry. That's not pretty." Fuji didn't even hear him. The words probably wouldn't have been much of a comfort, though, even if Fuji had heard him speak.

"Fuji…" Fuji continued to cry, his face turned away from Atobe in shame. He managed to bring his hands up to his face weakly; they pressed against his tearstained cheeks, hiding his red eyes from sight. "It will get better." Fuji's shoulders stilled for a minute. "You will be fine." Fuji's shoulders shook a little.

"I-I can't…" his voice shook with emotion as he turned back in the direction of Atobe's voice, perhaps seeking comfort. He needed something to hang onto—he needed to feel like he exercised a degree of control over something. Here, in this hospital bed, Fuji was helpless. He couldn't walk by himself. He could barely even speak a sentence. Fuji's world was one, quite literally, filled with absolute darkness. How could Fuji be sure of anything when he couldn't even get out of the hospital bed?

Atobe could barely fathom the amount of pain that Fuji was going through.

"Atobe-san?"

The doctor's voice called to him softly. Fuji's tears had disappeared from his eyes, but his face was still wet and the tip of his nose was red. At the sound of the doctor, he sniffled suddenly, obviously embarrassed by his own outpouring of emotions. "Good afternoon, Uetaki-sensei." Atobe sounded weary.

"Good afternoon to you, too. How is Fuji-kun?" Fuji made a hurried move to wipe the remaining moisture from his eyes before the doctor took his hand, gripping it gently. Fuji's grip was a lot stronger, this time, but his hand shook slightly. Next, he handed Fuji a pen and a small sheet and Fuji, following the new routine, slowly traced a shape on the paper. Without his eyesight, it was only a scribble, but this wasn't the point. Fuji's trembling hand could barely grip the pen for more than a few moments, and the pressure he exerted was minimal, but was improving day by day.

"How are you today, Fuji-kun?"

"G-good," Fuji answered weakly. His voice was hoarse.

"That sounds a lot better." As a routine, he inspected carefully. His checkups usually consisted of an inspection of Fuji's reflexes, his eyes, his speech, and what Atobe came to recognize as "fine motor control", the ability to control specific tasks, whether it be with his hands or otherwise. This time, when he shined a light into Fuji's eyes, he smiled a little. Atobe noticed that this time, Fuji seemed to withdraw a little.

"Is the sight improving in your right eye, Fuji-kun?"

For a moment, Fuji hesitated, and then nodded. "A-a", he said while nodding his head slowly. It still pained Atobe to see how slow his responses were, sometimes.

He put his flashlight into his pocket. "Atobe-san, at this rate, the sight is improving a little. I assume, though, that his eyes are only sensitive to light and shadows. I believe, though, that given a little work, we might be able to repair his vision slightly. Originally, I assumed that the majority of damage was in his brain—this would make his case of blindness permanent. However, with how his right eye is improving slightly, I think that with a little surgery on his eye, we might be able to repair some damage that occurred nearer to his eye in the accident. The chances that we can restore his sight fully are slim, but we believe that we can improve it, if only slightly."

There was silence.

"Fuji-kun, what do you think of this surgery? Would you like to be able to possibly see again?" For once, there was a slight smile upon Fuji's face. It was weak and slightly faltering, but it was a smile, nonetheless. Even though his encouraging nod was delayed slightly, like always, it seemed fervent.

"We'll discuss some of the details later, then, Fuji-kun. Atobe-san, would you mind having a word with me?"

"Sure."

Fuji looked slightly lonely at his departure. It must've been odd, too—Fuji couldn't see anything. It must've been a dull world without Atobe's conversation. When they finally stepped outside, the doctor looked a little more serious. "Let's take a walk, Atobe-san." Atobe blinked at his urgency, but continued.

"Atobe-san," he mentioned, "I understand that his parents are in America, but I was wondering if they are planning on visiting him. What about his other family? I believe I have seen his sister come and visit a few times, but are his parents planning to come to Japan?" Atobe paused and tried to remember the annoyed conversation that he had with them. Fuji's parents were spending their time in America. Fuji's father was working abroad overseas and it was difficult for him to get time off from his work. On the other hand, Fuji's mother was in poor health. Atobe had spent a half of an hour on the phone with her arguing, unable to understand that her health was too poor to travel.

"They will come as soon as possible. They said it's… troublesome." Atobe sounded like he didn't know what the word meant.

"You see, Atobe-san, I'm worried about Fuji-kun. Without any family support, I am afraid that he may regress."

"What's wrong?" Perhaps Atobe was stupid, or perhaps he simply didn't want to acknowledge the fact that Fuji was not the person he loved. He didn't want to—he wanted to imagine that with medicine and a little bed rest, Fuji would recover. Atobe had not learned the balance of life—the pain of recovery—the damages of such a near brush with death.

"You can imagine that his current condition is troubling, Atobe-san. Fuji-kun cannot understand easily that he was hurt; he can't remember his accident. Everything is blank, and he's lost everything. Fuji doesn't want to believe that this is real. You can imagine, it's very frightening to him. Fuji-kun is a free spirit. Spending time in the hospital is beginning to take its toll. I'm worried that Fuji-kun might be depressed."

"Fuji's stronger than that!" Atobe snarled.

"Atobe-san, being strong doesn't have anything to do with it. Along with his heavy emotional toll, the injury might have upset his emotional balance, possibly his hormones. That in combination with all the stress he feels may be dangerous. I'm particularly worried that if he goes untreated, he may regress—if he doesn't have the will to recover, he cannot have any hope for even a relatively normal life. If Fuji-kun doesn't have the emotional strength to try and recover, he probably will be bedridden for the rest of his life." Bedridden. It sounded like a curse on the doctor's tongue.

"What can we do?" Atobe asked tiredly.

"I want to assign him a psychiatrist to monitor his psychological state and begin to treat his depression. May I?"

"Of course; anything, as long as he gets better!" Atobe sounded ardent, but inside he was falling to pieces. It was almost too much stress for him; he was growing more and more impatient by the day. His work was suffering. His emotions were suffering. The company was suffering. Even Fuji was suffering. Atobe was used to being in control; now that he wasn't, he didn't understand how he was supposed to achieve anything.

"Atobe-san," The doctor said softly. "As a close friend of Fuji-kun's, it is important to support him when his parents cannot. He needs help. He needs help that only loved ones can give. Will you take care of him?"

"Yes."

"Thank you. That is all. As you expect, I have more patients to visit. Go back to Fuji-kun. Take care of him." The busy hallway seemed oddly silent after the doctor left. It took a moment for him to turn back. Even then, it was a difficult to battle his egotism.

There was a part of him that loved Fuji, purely and truly. However, his egotistic side hated Fuji—that part hated him and all the trouble he caused. Even now, in his forties, he was in constant conflict with it. He seemed no more than a child at these moments. Finally, he dragged himself back to the hotel room. Fuji's face was turned towards the window; though he couldn't really see much of the sunlight, he felt the warmth. That was enough to let him know that there was still freedom; it was almost too painful knowing it was just barely out of his reach, though.

"Fuji." He was too used to Fuji's reaction. While his reactions were slowly improving, the snap of his head was still belated and shaky.

"H-H-ey…" Fuji's voice sounded weaker after his conversation with the doctor.

Despite himself, Atobe managed to quell his egotistic side long enough to draw up a chair beside Fuji. "How are you?" Fuji sufficed the question with a nod of his head, but the obvious quiver of his chin, coupled by the particularly white pallor of his sunken cheeks, was enough to say Fuji was only trying to be positive. The doctor was right—Fuji was a mess.

Before Fuji could respond, Atobe, who seemed to have forgotten all his pride for only a second despite nagging egotism, had drawn him into his arms, circling his bony shoulders and thin waist in a grip that was tender, but firm. Even Fuji, who was in a haze, seemed shocked that Atobe was doing such a kind thing. "A-to…"

"Shut up," Atobe's voice seemed to quiver somewhat. If he closed his eyes, he could pretend that Fuji was still beautiful. So he did—he closed his eyes and dreamed, letting his chin rest on the top of Fuji's head. Fuji quivered in his arms.

"A-to…be…" Fuji's voice trailed off and failed.

Atobe wanted so badly to go back in time, but he was stuck in the nightmare.


End file.
